THE PEACOCK CHRONICLES

Comedy is grotesque. It’s sublime, vulgar, witty, ridiculous, painful, dangerous and tender. But most of all, grotesque. An exaggeration of that moment where we don’t look our best, say the right thing, seem attractive or composed. It’s also the moment in life where we are at our most human, our most vulnerable, our most honest. And it’s often the sanctuary for those of us that get the horse named Demon.

Every year, in summer camp-we would go horseback riding once a week. Cutesy little Courtney and Adorable Ashley, who always wore their hair in perfect little ribbons, always got to ride ‘Peaches’ or ‘Butter Cup’. I was a pudgy little girl with a horrible bowl haircut so the counselors would put me on ‘Demon’ and tell me not to be such a coward. It didn’t matter that Demon was wild and unpredictable, they’d plop me on his insane back with a sneer and off I went, bowl hair cut and all, bouncing on the trail in an awkward and terrifying dash. When people tell me how funny I am, all I can think is ‘What choice did I have?’ A wicked sense of humor is usually the result of a life full of ‘Demons’.

Demon Riders have a way of standing out. I don’t know why I was able to stay up late to watch Saturday Night Live when I was little-but I remember watching a lot of it. I loved Belushi and Radner. I was thrown off by Jane Curtains’ composure and a little scared by Dan Akroyd’s ferociousness but as I grew up I began to understand the roles everybody played and enjoyed them all the more because at the heart of what they did…there was something dark and sad and dangerous about their comedy. And I recognized it. Although I haven’t seen many of them since.

Like millions of moviegoers, I discovered Melissa McCarthy when I went to see Bridesmaids. I always gird my loins whenever I see a fat girl on screen because we are a rare breed and I will invariably be compared to her. But about 15 minutes in, I was laughing as hard as everybody else. She was amazing and fierce and went THERE. And it was insanely refreshing. At first I thought it may be just a one time thing. Then she hosted Saturday Night Live and there was one particular sketch that really caught my eye…

In the Hidden Valley Ranch Dressing skit, Melissa plays a sad sack of desperate for attention geek that grossly pours all the salad dressing down her throat to impress the surveyor. I thought it was the strongest skit, a friend of mine thought it was too much. So I asked, “Had she been Belushi, would you have thought she went to far, or would you have thought it was brilliant?” And it was like flipping a light switch.

Men in comedy get to be fat and grubby and real. They get to draw their humor from their hardships. Louis C.K. is a great example. He lives THERE. But women are expected to be funny in a way that doesn’t detract from their ‘attractiveness’ . They always say they are gross or awkward but at the end of the day-they’re gorgeous and even when they’re funny-it feels like they’re winking at the camera. When you do see a fat woman on screen-she’s never the set up, she’s the punchline. But Melissa McCarthy defies gender and prejudice with pure talent. Of course she’s blowing everybody away, she owns her body and turns it on us, relentlessly. She doesn’t need to make fun of herself because she understands that the real comedy lies in the prejudices we have about the characters she brings to life. She’s a genuine throwback whose relishing in the grotesqueness of life while effortlessly riding ‘Demon’ far into what I can only hope is comedy’s future. And I for one can’t wait.